


Bound For Your Distant Home

by onemillionbranches



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, M/M, Oral Sex, Politics, Roommates, kind of bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemillionbranches/pseuds/onemillionbranches
Summary: “I can’t believe you bought this place Enj, I mean aren’t you afraid of the – ““Courf, ghost don’t exist” Apollo was completely oblivious how wrong his statement was seeing as there was a ghost standing about 3 feet behind him, gazing very appreciatively at his tight skinny jeans. In which Enjolras and Grantaire become reluctant (albeit oblivious) roommates and negotiates the trials and tribulations of life together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [this prompt](http://inktaire.tumblr.com/post/152718627965/okay-but-what-if-grantaire-is-a-ghost-because-his) that i saw on [this blog](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com/) and somehow spiralled into this monster of a fic!

_June 2002_

He never thought he would have gone out the way he did. Always figured it would have been his liver failing or an overdose that ended the shambles he called a life but no, it was much simpler than that.

All R could remember in those last moments was rain. Big, plump droplets that stained the fabric of his jacket a deep moss green as he held it over his head, trying desperately to cross the road and avoid the rain. He would have to get the jacket sent to the drycleaners soon, he thought, pausing at an intersection to check for traffic before trudging along.

Life however, seemed determined to keep his trusty jacket unwashed as it was that exact moment a speeding vehicle raced towards Grantaire’s flank and sent him flying towards the sidewalk.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

All he felt was heat, overwhelmingly so, like he had swallowed the sun and now was too small to contain the entire galaxy within him. All he heard was panicked breaths, terrified screams and the distant sound of sirens. All he saw was the shoes of many others gathering around him, the flushed face of the driver crotched facing him, and red.

He saw red creeping up along the gravel surface and staining his jacket, thrown some distance from him, red in plump droplets like rain seeping down from his arm and then -

And then at 10.45pm, Grantaire saw nothing at all.

_January 2003_

He hates New Year’s Day. Even before he was stuck in this limbo state of in-between Grantaire had never had a taste for the holiday. Drink were priced at ridiculous amounts and bars were always packed with the reek of desperate singles trying to banter their way towards a cheap connection so they won’t be alone as the new year arrives.

He had never been a fan of it, _especially_ not now, considering his situation.

In the past the holiday had been tolerable under the influence of his frequent lovers, alcohol and other substances, but now in the state he is Grantaire couldn’t even get drunk enough to forget the world, his body simply wouldn’t allow it.

Religion had never been a particularly big part of Grantaire’s former life. Sure, he was raised a Roman Catholic like most other French boys and had done the whole going-to-church-on-Sunday stint, but personally he never truly bought it. Never truly believed how one man could sacrifice himself for a world he knows to be so deeply flawed and damaged or how salvation will come to those willing to repent and adhere to a certain creed of rules.

Needless to say, he did not live his life in accordance to those rules.

It was ironic, almost, when he had awoken to find himself back at his apartment, dressed in the same outfit he last remembered putting on. For a moment, he had thought it all to be a bad dream, a result no doubt of another long night out.

But then the door clicked open and his family poured into the tiny apartment, Grantaire realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that no, this was not a bad dream.

The dark rings under his mother’s eyes made Grantaire’s head hurt. He could barely remember the last time he called home and now there they were, his parents packing up the reminder of his belongings away into neat white boxes, blind to the weeping boy at the corner of the living room.

He wanted to show them, to tell them that he was still here, somehow, that he had never left them and he wasn’t truly gone and there is no need for the tears.

But he hasn’t called back in months and guilt wraps around his body, coils around the tip of his tongue and he decides it’s perhaps better, to just let them move on.

Grantaire watched his sobbing parents leave his apartment, his mother turning around and taking one last look at the empty studio with heavy eyes. For a split second, Grantaire swore that they made eye contact, that she saw him, before resignation flickered in her eyes and she leaned into the embrace of his father, trudging out of his home.

That was close to six months ago now, and he had adapted to this new life and the boundaries that now confine him.

For one, he could no longer get drunk or inflict any bodily damage to himself. It seemed maybe the big G-O-D was punishing him in the afterlife by removing all the vices he had previously held so dear to him whilst alive. He could pick things up and move them around, and for the most part pass through thin walls (a skill discovered whilst knocking his head against the wall to find himself on _the other side_ of said wall) but as far as communication with the living, he was handicapped in that area.

They couldn’t see him, that’s for sure and honestly, Grantaire didn’t mind it that much at all. The loneliness had dulled into a begrudged tolerance for his situation, doomed to watch the rest of humanity waste themselves away whilst trapped in his solitary confinement.

That, was his life now.

_February 2004_

For months now, Grantaire had been dreading the arrival of this day. He had never been one to disturb the living (although his invisible status has proven helpful in entering The Louvre after opening hours), or to haunt them, per say. But when realtors began to visit his apartment with potential buyers, that stance quickly changed to defensive.

He had managed to spook so many bright-eyed newlyweds or stoned college kids to rack up a considerable reputation for the apartment.

Somehow, this only managed to fuel interest for the place and teams of “paranormal investigators” flooded by attempting to contact Grantaire. He’d knock over a vase here and there, open a drawer, all in an attempt to shut down further invasion of his home.

To his dismay, his antics eventually culminated in the apartment being sold to a young paranormal investigator at an exorbitant price. Grantaire watched with grim eyes as keys were passed and leases signed and the young man (Joly, he believed his name was) telling his friend that he could move in next February.

Grantaire awaited the next few weeks with bated trepidation and annoyance. Whoever this new tenant was, he was _not_ about to share his apartment, living or dead.

Today it seemed, was the day.

He had up woken up to the sound of loud footsteps echoing up the staircases and what sounded like the voices of an entire caravan full of people drifting into his room.

Grantaire sighed and made his way to the living room, ready to meet the person he no doubt would be spending the next few months (or month if he were so lucky) scaring off.

The oak doors clicked open and an angel stumbled in.

Grantaire briefly wondered if he had somehow moved on to another realm, and if so why the fuck did it take almost two years for it to happen and how was he deserving to enter Heaven, considering his life was none too short of vices.

But behind the angel pushed through a flood of people and Grantaire realized with slight disappointment that alas, he was still stuck in this limbo.

“Courfeyrac I swear if you break anything I will – “the angel scowled, and Grantaire decided then that he wasn’t an angel. For some angels fall and are imperfect, this man that stood before him was more like Apollo, and mortals such as he can but follow to the sun, with his golden hair and sharp cheekbones.

Courfeyrac simply smirked and blew an unruly curl out of his face as he precariously balanced a few cardboard boxes between his arms.

“I can’t believe you bought this place Enj, I mean aren’t you afraid of the –"

“Courf, ghost don’t exist” Apollo was completely oblivious how wrong his statement was seeing as there was a ghost standing about 3 feet behind him, gazing _very_ appreciatively at his tight skinny jeans.

“A ghost you say! Oh, and thanks for letting me research here Enjolras, it will really help me crack this place before those phony Ghosthunters do” Grantaire recognized him as Joly, the young man he had seen previously on the phone and smiled with some measure of fondness. He was one of the few paranormal investigators that didn’t fake their results and approached Grantaire with a clinical, scientific approach as opposed to the traditional sensationalized one.

Hold on.

 _Let_ me research here?

It all hit Grantaire at once that somehow he was going to have to live with, and perhaps scare off the marble Greek god that currently stood in his living room. A drink, at this moment would be much gratified and needed.

More of the group arrived and Grantaire became slowly acquitted to their gang over the course of the next few hours as he watched them unpack and arrange furniture, without much success might he add as there was a lot more bantering going on than actual unpacking, and the gang would eventually give up and retreat to relaxing on the sofa.

Being a silent observer over the past few years has helped Grantaire hone his innate perception of people. For course, from time to time he might be proven wrong and someone does come to surprise him, but that rarely does happen in a world as bleak as his. But with this group, he could sense none of that, just pure youthful energy and excitement.

There was Combeferre, the dark-skinned boy with thick rimmed glasses and constellation tattoos that stretches down to his forearm, who was clearly the intellectual of the group. He was the probably the only one aside from Enjolras himself who actually tried to help unpack and clean the place up before eventually giving up alongside the others.

Courfeyrac, who’d float about the room laughing with his curly hair a mess in his hands and seemed somehow to consume all the energy in the room and yet radiate back the same energy to everyone he spoke to tenfold simultaneously.

Joly and Bossuet, who seemed to fit together like perfect pieces, what with the latter somehow incredibly prone to mishaps (he fell down twice in the span of two hours and once almost knocked his head on the ceiling fan) and the former more than willing to patch him up with a gentle smile and an encouraging pat on the back.

There was Jehan, who confused Grantaire to no end with the incredibly endearing yet mismatched outfit of yellow legging, a floral skirt and bright orange knit sweater that despite basic colour theory worked in bringing out the flecks of green in Jehan’s eyes that made Grantaire want to grab an easel and capture the moment.

Marius, probably the youngest of the group seeing as how everyone mostly either dismisses what he says or make a remark along the lines of “For the love of croissants Marius will you stop talking about Cosette,”, yet still somehow receives patience from the group when he takes too long to understand a joke or makes an outlandish remark.

There was the two Grantaire wished he had been friends with alive, Bahorel and Feuilly, whose physical statue had led to Grantaire marking them off as a bunch of typical “bros” but had proven themselves to be incredibly funny and snarky throughout the two hours, many a time making Grantaire bit down his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

And finally, there was Enjolras.

Grantaire wasn’t sure if Apollo himself even, is a good comparison to the man who seemed to radiate like the sun. His fingers ached to mark him down, to trace the lines of his face and translate that to acrylic. He wanted to spend hours mixing the right shade of gold to illuminate his hair, the right shade of red to capture the jeans he was wearing but most importantly he really wanted a camera to take a picture of him.

Because when Grantaire scares him away, he really doesn’t think his memory will do justice and translate well into a painting.

As great as they are, Grantaire isn’t one to lose focus over his original plans, even if his future roommate looks like he came straight out of an Abercrombie commercial.

He wasn’t going to give up the luxury of his final resting place just for some eye candy, and so began what Courfeyrac will later call _R’s 12 Steps of Finding Love_ (alternative title: _How to be Bad at being a Ghost_ ).

_March 2004_

Ok, so maybe things weren’t exactly going as Grantaire had planned.

It wasn’t his fault, really, it’s just that the man had such a _regimented_ schedule and he was barely home really. Even during the off moments he was at home, Apollo was either passed out tired on the bed, fully clothed mind you, or so concentrated with his work that R feared not even a fire would distract him.

He had been dropping subtle hints; a coffee mug left here, a comforter thrown there. But somehow Enjolras always assumed the mess to be created by himself or one of his friends and never mentioned much of it.

He had thought it too creepy to follow Enjolras after he left the apartment each day and so their interaction was limited to the hours after he reaches home.

It was getting increasingly hard for Grantaire to drop subtle hints to a man so infuriatingly _dense,_ so maybe, it was time to step things up.

_June 2004_

It’s been 4 months since Enjolras has been living in the apartment now. He had originally bought the place simply because he needed a place to stay and Joly after had sent him a 15-point presentation on why he should buy the place, he was finding it hard to say no.

Enjolras wasn’t much of a believer in the paranormal, to say the least. He was much more concerned with what people did alive then what they did dead, whether ghost exist he simply does not care, so long as they don’t meddle with his affairs, he was fine.

It’s been 2 months since the notes started appearing.

At first Enjolras had assumed they came from Combeferre. He had found one stuck to the fridge door, typed neatly on a small square of paper, outlining the loopholes in his arguments and rhetoric. He had simply assumed it was probably the work of Combeferre after their weekly Les Amis meetings and hadn’t thought much about it.

It was a busy time for the group. Their little social activism group, started in college by Enjolras, had amassed a sudden influx of attention after a particularly successful rally against deplorable labour conditions held outside Apple had gone viral on YouTube. Suddenly all eyes were on them, and Enjolras found himself finally garnering the attention he needed from the right people to make changes to this world.

He had brought up the notes one day during an Amis meeting whilst they were going through possible arguments Enjolras might face whilst bringing up their solutions to their Senator.

“Your notes, Combeferre, have been very helpful but…” Enjolras paused, thinking of how best to phrase what he was about to say next. It was true that the criticism had helped him form better arguments but the arguments recently have grown more and more cynical, doubtful even, of their cause. It worried Enjolras that Combeferre, his supposedly right-hand man, was showing such doubt about issues they had been fighting for together ever since they met in university 4 years ago. Especially now during this crucial period, he needed all members of his team to show a strong front against opposition.

“Perhaps you could tell me why it seems like you don’t think our plans could work?” He didn’t mean to come off so defensive but perhaps being blunt was the best solution in this case, maybe then could Enjolras figure out what’s going on in his dear friend’s head.

“Notes?” Combeferre looked genuinely puzzled. A wave of confusion swept the room.

“Yes, the notes that you have been leaving on my fridge. They have been helpful but rather… negative as of late.”

“Whatever notes you’re talking about, they weren’t from me Enjolras.”

“Oh. I always just assumed – well which one of you was it then?” Enjolras paused to survey the room, each one of his friends looking even more confused than ever. In the background the sound of a mug shattering echoed throughout the room.

“Must be the wind,” Enjolras muttered, “I’ll get it.”

He stepped into the kitchen and gingerly picked up the broken pieces of ceramic off the floor and tossing them into a bin. Enjolras made sure to close the windows tightly before returning to the living room, carrying with him the stack of notes he had been receiving for the past 2 months.

“These,” He said, placing the stack of cue-card sized notes on the coffee table. The Amis naturally gathered around, curiously surveying it as if some ancient artefact was place in front of them.

A look of hesitation passed around the group after they were done as everyone waited for someone to confess to Pissing Off Enjolras, a sin that deserved its own level of hell.

When it was clear that no one in the group at least, had written the notes, they began to debate the identity of the mysterious sender.

“Maybe it was one of the boys you brought home Enj, after you no doubt bombarded your date with socio-political rants,” Courfeyrac suggesting, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

From the corner of the living room a stool toppled over.

“That’s not -,” Enjolras flushed red and glared at Courfeyrac, “You know I don’t do that.”

“Which part, the bringing boys home or terrible dating skills?”

“Maybe it’s like a Fight Club thing and you wrote them yourself and you didn’t even know,” Marius suggested, gingerly leafing through the notes.

Enjolras pondered the suggestion for a moment. Could he have, being so stressed out and drained over the past 2 months, began to dissociate and write himself notes?

It would have been possible if not for the fact that he has no idea how to use the printer in the apartment, and seeing as the notes were printed, it is impossible that he was the author of them.

He confessed this to the group and was met with a considerable round of laughter and teasing that mostly went along the lines of “Our Fearless Leader, stumped by modern technology! Yet another great wonder of the world indeed.”

It was after their teasing that Joly, who had remained suspiciously quiet the whole time, bolted out of his seat and basically yelled, “Oh my god Enj, it’s the ghost,”

Before Enjolras could even begin to dismiss him, Joly had already began prancing about the room, rambling about how “finally it’s appearing oh my god” and “this is actual evidence” and “I can’t believe it actually has opinions on issues this is amazing”.

“We have to contact it then, since he or she clearly isn’t hostile,” Jehan offered before tumbling out a bag’s worth of loose paper onto the coffee table. Fishing through the stack, he finally found a piece of paper void of any scribblings and wrote a big “YES” and “NO” on opposite ends of the paper.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Bit rudimentary eh?”

“Shush now, I didn’t bring my gear here, we make do with what we have.” Joly grinned, motioning for the group to gather around him as he sat cross-legged at the coffee table.

“So.” Joly cleared his throat momentarily, “We have a few questions for you. I’m going to hold on to this pen and if you want to answer us just move it to the words on the paper, is that ok?”

Everyone, even Enjolras who was watching with equal part annoyance and intrigue, held their breath in anticipation as Joly’s pen slid over to the big red YES.

The smile that gripped Joly’s face had never been wider or truer as the Amis exploded into excitement. Everyone began to flood the room with their questions, much to Enjolras’s annoyance who at this point had become a stoic figure in the corner of the room.

“Are you a girl?” NO.

“You don’t want to hurt us, right?” YES.

“Did you die in this apartment?” NO.

“Did you live here before you died?” YES.

“Have you been living alongside Enjolras all this time?” This time, a pause before the pen shook and settled on YES once again.

“He’s a terrible roommate, isn’t he?” Courfeyrac quipped, inciting a sideway glare from the aforementioned leader as laughter rang around the room.

The pen slid between YES and NO hesitantly and Enjolras decided then to end the charade by snatching up the paper and relegating it to the kitchen counter.

He was, understandably, met with rousing disapproval but quickly got them back on track using what Courfeyrac had coined as his I-am-the-boss voice.

When the meeting was over and the gang had dissipated, with great reluctance from Joly who was not permitted to stay over this time, Enjolras finally settled down on the sofa and considered the day’s events.

He was still in the midst of trying to figure out who had written those notes when he heard something fall to the ground from the kitchen.

Getting up to investigate the noise, he felt slightly paranoid at what had happened earlier. Surely it must have been Joly messing about right? It can’t be a –

“You are the most infuriatingly dense person I’ve ever met,” the voice was low and smooth like velvet and rang from somewhere in front of Enjolras.

He jumped back. “Who – Who’s there?” Enjolras stuttered embarrassingly for he, who once had been stalked relentlessly after rallying against the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy and later _shot_ during one of said rallies, was actually scared.

“Caspar the friendly ghost,” the voice laughed and drifted closer to Enjolras who instinctively began taking steps backwards.

“I have been dropping not-so-subtle hints for months since you’ve moved in and when that didn’t work I started leaving these notes because I’ve kind of been listening in to your meetings and anyways now _that_ is clearly not working so, you have left me no choice but to reveal myself to you once and for all,” Grantaire finished, a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face as he watched the colour drain out of Enjolras’s face.

Taking a deep breath, Enjolras gathered himself calmly and sat down on a stool near the kitchen counters.

“So, you are real?” He hated how silly he looked for he was literally talking to nothing but there was simply no other logical explanation for what is happening right now.

A short laugh. “All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. But yes, I suppose, I am as real as you are.”

“It would help if I could see you,” Enjolras swallowed nervously. He was losing his mind, it must be, the combination of weeks of sleep deprivation and caffeine overdose have led him to this moment: asking a ghost or spirit or whatever it is to _appear_ to him.

Grantaire paused thoughtfully for a moment. Over the past 2 years living as part of the supernatural, he has begun to unravel some of the mystery of why he is the way he is. He was certain that it was some kind of punishment, or perhaps (he loathe the saying) _unfinished business_ that kept him around and that for the most part he was invisible to the general public.

Emphasis on the most, that is.

It was during a late-night visit to the Louvre that Grantaire realized by touching a person, skin-to-skin, he granted them the ability to see him. Of course, the poor guard that he had bumped into had no idea of knowing that and began chasing after what looked like an invisible figure to everyone else.

With this knowledge in mind, he had been experimenting with appearing and disappearing at will in front of random strangers, and the occasional paranormal investigators, first by touching them so he is visible.

He could just disappear, so there really isn’t any downside to appearing in front of Enjolras, right?

Grantaire suddenly felt very self-conscious about the dark circles that loomed under his eyes and the unruly state of his hair.

With a deep breath in and closed eyes, he reached out to gently graze Enjolras’s knee with the palm of his hand.

“Oh,”

It wasn’t until he heard Enjolras’s soft exclamation that Grantaire opened his eyes and looked, really _looked_ at the man he had been unwilling roommates with for the past 4 months.

Enjolras, to his credit, was handling the situation with remarkable poise and patience considering a man had literally appeared out of thin air in front of him and was now touching his knee.

For all the horrific imagery that had been running through Enjolras’s mind, this was definitely not what he had been expecting to see.

Curly black hair, artfully messy in a way that exuberates negligence, and piercing green eyes flecked with hazel that were staring right at Enjolras, pinning him to his seat. He wanted to look away, to start conversation for he had so much to know, so much to ask, but for the life of him Enjolras couldn’t find the drive to look away. The man waved a hand in front of Enjolras’s eyes, breaking his daze.

“I’m Grantaire,” he said, reaching out to shake Enjolras’s hand, “You can call me R if you like.”

“Enjolras. But I assume you already know that.”

Grantaire shrugged, pulling out a stool to sit in front of Enjolras. “I assume you have questions,”

Enjolras took a deep breath before beginning.

“How long have you been living here?”

“With you? Since the moment you set foot in this apartment. Without you, I’ve had this place for about a year or so.”

“How old are you?”

“I died when I was 24 so,” Grantaire made an act out of counting his fingers, “I would be 26 now, I suppose by human age,”

“Where do – where do you sleep at night? If you sleep at all that is.” Enjolras flushed slightly, hoping the question came off as innocuous as he intended it to be. It would ease him greatly to know that he hadn’t been sharing his bed with a member of the undead, even if said member beautiful green eyes and hair that made Enjolras want to run his fingers through.

Grantaire laughed at that, the corners of his mouth arching up and meeting the corners of his eyes. “Wherever you don’t,” at Enjolras’s confused look, Grantaire continued, “I don’t know if you notice but you are always exhausted when you reach home. So, in the rare occasions you do make it to the bed, I just sleep on the sofa. And yes, I do sleep. Don’t really need it but I would much rather cling on to the last few humanly rituals I can still cling onto.”

“Just now you said you’ve been dropping hints to get me to notice you. Why?”

Grantaire sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been doing this bit where I scare off people that are interested in the apartment, because people in Paris are well, _special_ , and I really didn’t want to have to share my final resting place with some screenwriter waiting for his next big break or some banjo-playing goatee man and his hipster friends. But somehow that didn’t work and you bought the apartment and I foolishly thought that you would be easy to scare off but that clearly is not working so here we are with my proposal: we become roommates and in lieu of rent (which I shouldn’t even have to pay honestly I bought this apartment before you) I will help out your friend on his show,”

Enjolras mused the proposition for a while. It was without a doubt, the most insane thing he had ever heard and he would have thought he was on an episode of Punk’d if not for how incredibly real everything was becoming. But what did he have to lose?

An outreached hand and a brilliant smile was soon matched by Grantaire, and so somehow, Grantaire and Enjolras went from ghost and unfortunate home owner, to roommates.

_June 2007_

Some days are easier than others.

Some days, Grantaire could almost forget.

But today he couldn’t. Not even after a bottle of pinot noir (which still had no effect on him, to his dismay), not even after Éponine, Joly and Bossuet had talked to him.

How did he ever think that being roommates with Enjolras would have been easy?

Of course, things had started out fine, as they always do. Introductions to the rest of Les Amis had been easy and hilarious, with Joly near fainting from happiness and Bahorel somehow being the most terrified of Grantaire despite his physical build.

Grantaire still thinks back upon the day with much fondness.

Over the past 3 years he had grown to love them as his own family and watched as their little college activism group had expanded gradually into a political party that was now pushing for Enjolras to be voted into the National Assembly.

He has been a member, more out of necessity than choice since the meetings are held at his shared home, but could never really shake off the cynicism in his voice whenever grandiose solutions were brought up.  

Before they were officially a political party, Grantaire could still keep the arguments relatively cordial, for the sake of being roommates and all. He did try, at least at the start of their relationship, to keep things as friendly and at ease with Enjolras as possible. But as they grew bigger and he watched as Enjolras’s ambitions and ego begin to fly high above the clouds where the Greek gods he looked so much like lived, he didn’t want to hold his tongue any longer.

Perhaps it’s the destructive streak in him that just couldn’t keep it down whenever he saw that light, that brilliant fire light up in Enjolras’s eyes every time he grew passionate and all Grantaire wanted to do was to scream for him to run. To keep that fire burning as long as he could sustain it but he knows Enjolras couldn’t, no man could, not in our world of depravities and fallacies that crushes everything pure. Instead all Grantaire does is try and shake some sense into him, before he has to watch the embers burn out.

He doesn’t know who it will kill more.

Their arguments, pretty much a staple in every Les Amis meeting now, culminated into a crescendo that unraveled itself finally 3 nights ago.

Every time they fought during a meeting, Enjolras would always leave with Combeferre and Courfeyrac to their apartment for a bit, before returning past midnight with rebuttals and apologies (sometimes).

And Grantaire always accepted, always apologized if he went too far, because he couldn’t stand the empty house now, doesn’t know how he used to, without Enjolras’s light and warmth. So when he returns and they patch up and Grantaire goes back to pretending like he’s not in love with Enjolras, life returns as per normal.

Not this time. This time it was Grantaire who left, and it had been 3 days since he was home.

_“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, of dying.”_

_“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, of dying.”_

_“Grantaire, you are incapable of bel –“_

The masochist that he is wouldn’t let himself forget. He remembered flinching distinctively, but managing to keep his face straight and his voice from shaking as he quipped back “You will see.” with a smile on his face. He remembered the silence that rang across the group then, remembered Joly’s worried glances and Jehan’s gentle pat on his back. He remembered Combeferre’s hands keeping Courfeyrac and Cosette, Marius’s girlfriend and an angel both in and out, from telling Enjolras off.

He remembered the last look he took at Enjolras’s face before leaving with Bossuet and the regret that he felt instantly for all he saw was disdain and disappointment. 

Éponine, whom Grantaire had met after visiting Marius’s new apartment last year and soon helped the group realize that Marius himself had been in a similar predicament to Enjolras, came over to the Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta (Grantaire had affectionately coined them the JBM trio) residence soon after with aforementioned bottle of pinot noir and sleeping bags every night since (somehow skillfully shoplifted, of course).

That was 3 days ago now and as great as the JBM and Éponine are, Grantaire knew he had to go home.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?” Éponine nudged, walking Grantaire to his apartment.

“Another night wouldn’t hurt you know, Musichetta is making Ratatouille tomorrow!” Joly said, flashing Grantaire a brilliant smile and nudging Musichetta, who in turn gave him a fast peck on the cheek.

His heart ached and Grantaire felt very much like the Grinch in that moment, for his heart grew 3 sizes too big and he brought his friends in for a hug.

“We’re just a text message away,” Bossuet said, looping an arm around Joly and Musichetta, “And Ep here will be on standby to kick his ass if he does something stupid again.”

Grantaire grinned, and waved his friends goodbye as they trudged back to their apartment a block away.

To say he was nervous was a vast understatement. He had ignored all calls and messages from Enjolras the first day he hadn’t went home, then started to panic as the calls and messages stopped by the second, and by the third, he was all but ready to throw in the white flag and return home.

Even in death he was never very good at controlling his addictions.

Grantaire stared at their heavy oak doors, and took a deep breath. He had already rehearsed what would happen in his head over a million times. Apologize for not being accountable, argue that technically he wasn’t in the wrong, deflect Enjolras’s ensuing rebuttal with a joke and move on. Move on with this life that wasn’t a life, move on to biting back the urge to kiss, to touch, move on with all the failed attempts at trying to move on.

He could do this.

Grantaire fished for his keys and gingerly unlocked the apartment doors.

The place was eerily quiet, and Grantaire thought for a moment perhaps Enjolras was asleep and they could hold off their meeting until the next morning. He tiptoed quietly past Enjolras’s room and opened the door to his, wincing as they creaked and groaned after years of neglect.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras’s voice was sleepy and hoarse, low in a way that made Grantaire groan inwardly as he turned around to face the man.

Even with terrible bed hair (that Enj was unsuccessfully trying to smooth with his hands), pillow creases on his right cheek and a faded band shirt, Enjolras still managed to take Grantaire’s breath away.

 _I love you_ , he thought. Silent confessions that will never be said seriously, only masked as jokes and teases to embarrass Enjolras. But he knew the truth behind those words.

_I love you even when you’re not kind. Because you have the biggest heart for the people you care about. I love you even when you’re not beautiful. Because you’re so much more than that, so much more than what people just see and grab at with you._

But all Grantaire manages to say is “No, it’s Caspar the friendly ghost.” and waits for the cycle to unfold itself again.

But Enjolras surprises them both by closing the distant between them then in one long stride, and takes Grantaire into his arms and holds him in a breath-taking hug.

“Do you know how worried I’ve been?” Grantaire wishes, prays to God, to anyone listening that Enjolras isn’t able to see the single tear that rolled down his cheek as he gave into the embrace, isn’t able to hear the sharp intake of breath as his hands ran down Enjolras’s back.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I – I shouldn’t have said those things.” It was Enjolras who broke away first to look at Grantaire, blue eyes glimmering bright in the moonlight as he pulled them both towards the living room to sit on their sofa.

“It – It’s hard for me with you,” Enjolras started, and Grantaire felt his breath hitch. “You make me lose sense sometimes, you make it so hard for me to remain rational and in control when we argue, I just want to punch you honestly.”

“If this is your grand apology Apollo, you aren’t doing so great so far,”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t take the bait. “I see so much in you, so much potential and drive and smarts Grantaire. But above all that is layers upon layers of pessimism and disbelief and I wished I had said what I said 3 nights ago better, but I stand by those words. You have the potential and the capacity to be something great but you choose not to be. George Carlin once said ‘Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist”. Where is the idealist inside you, Grantaire?”

“Dead. Coincidentally much like the rest of me, for one and secondly I –“

“I talked to Combeferre.” Enjolras’s sudden switch in tone threw off Grantaire, and he looked up at the golden boy who was now playing with his fingers and _fidgeting_ as if he was nervous about something.

“What about?”

“He said you – he said you might have certain _feelings_ for me. But that I should talk to you about them.” Enjolras paused, glancing up at Grantaire who was now completely frozen.

It was his worst nightmare and so much more, Grantaire thought. He badly wanted to just disappear but he knew that would probably just make things worse. There was no escape from this then, best to just come out with it.

Grantaire smiled, a small sad one that didn’t reach the corners of his eyes like they usually do. “I have loved to the point of madness; That which is called madness, That which to me, Is the only sensible way to love.”

He reached over to interlock Enjolras’s hands with his own, admiring the smooth, long planes of Enjolras’s fingers against his own calloused, paint splattered ones.

“I never knew,” Enjolras said, soft, as his fingers began to trace circles around Grantaire’s knuckles.

Grantaire scoffed, sounding much more harsh than he intended to. “Mortals never expect their Gods to take notice of them, just gracing them occasionally is good enough.”

Enjolras’s face turned at that and he pulled his hands away. He had always disliked the nickname ‘Apollo’, disliked how Grantaire looked at him like he had all the solutions, like he was something to be revered and looked up to.

“I am most human when I’m with you,”

“Well I’m barely human when I’m with you ever,” Grantaire teased, a playful glint in his eye. He desperately wanted to shift the trajectory of this painful conversation before the needless rejection and pity comes his way and he would have to see that reflected in those beautiful blue eyes.

Enjolras didn’t respond for a while after that, and Grantaire worried that yet again he had fucked up and said something wrong, something stupid. He sighed and was about to speak when Enjolras stared out the window and began to speak again.

“These past few years, you’ve felt so – so real to me, to all of us that sometimes we forget that you’re dead. That we will age and grow old while you remain young and visible only to us forever.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a pretty incredible and unbelievable situation, honestly, when I stop to think about it.”

“We definitely deserve our own special Lifetime movie, that’s for sure.” Grantaire said, picking at the edges of his frayed sweater.

“When we first started this, when we first became roommates, I couldn’t really believe it.” Enjolras chuckled then, at some inside joke only he had any notion of. “I used to think, used to be _afraid_ that someday I was going to just wake up and find out that you’ve been just a dream all along, or a figment of my imagination to fight against feeling lonely sometimes. But you’re not and every morning I wake up feeling happy that I see you and for a while now I’ve been fighting that feeling because it’s not fair to you Grantaire.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, blue eyes penetrating into Grantaire’s soul. “Eventually I will age and change and become different but you, you will stay as beautiful as you are now. I don’t know what will happen to me after that but I know that – I know that I love you Grantaire, and it’s selfish for me to but I love you still and you make me feel like I’m losing control and that’s why I say –“

Grantaire couldn’t hear much of anything else Enjolras had to say after that, he just stared at the blond man’s lips contemplating whether or not he should lean in or if that will break the magical spell that had somehow engulfed them.

“Fuck it,” he decided finally, cutting Enjolras off mid-sentence and leaning in.

He felt Enjolras froze momentarily and that split second of indecisiveness was enough to send Grantaire running for the hills and drawing away but Enjolras’s hands came up around his neck to pull him in for a deeper kiss and just like that Grantaire was gone.

It was nothing like he ever expected.

Enjolras’s lips were so _warm_ , granted the ghost factor played a pretty big role in that, soft and slightly chapped against his own. They tilted their head’s awkwardly, noses bumping into each other as they explored this new feeling.

Enjolras tasted like mint toothpaste and the feeling of being clean and Grantaire was afraid to touch him, instead keeping his hands obediently by his side as Enjolras bit on his bottom lip.

He was being way too good.

Grantaire’s hands reached up to tangle themselves in Enjolras’s hair, tugging slightly and grinning into their kiss as the action incited a low whining noise from Enjolras.

They fell into the sofa together, Enjolras straddling Grantaire, breaking away only to catch their breath and Grantaire felt lightheaded from the sight in front of him. Enjolras, with his lips swollen red and golden hair a crazy mess, was illuminated in the moonlight, skin so smooth and pale it was almost like marble.

Grantaire had to take a deep breath and fight off a very _persistent_ Enjolras before he could talk. “Maybe we should – ah – we should talk about this?”

Enjolras looked up from nibbling at Grantaire’s neck to cock an eyebrow, a familiar annoyance already plastered on his face. “There’s nothing to talk about, I rather not waste time when we could be exploring other more interesting options,” he punctuated the end of his statement with a slight tug on Grantaire’s ear.

Grantaire groaned. He was going to die. He was actually going to die again but this time he won’t come back but that’s ok because Enjolras is _taking off his shirt_ and Grantaire could trace his well-defined torso and feel lean muscles underneath, muscles he had been aching to touch since the first time he had seen Enjolras come out from the shower in a towel.

He wanted to enjoy this fully but the nagging, destructive bug in the back of his stupid head wouldn’t let him properly enjoy the moment.

Grantaire gingerly pried Enjolras off his lap, almost pulling him back when Enjolras actually whined adorably and _pouted_ his lips, before sitting the two of them straight up. He cleared his throat nervously. “So when did this – when did you –“

Enjolras sighed impatiently, using a voice Grantaire has only heard him use with stubborn politicians and petulant children, and leaned back against the sofa.

“You didn’t come back. I’ve said – we’ve both said lots of things to each other that we shouldn’t have, but in all that time you’ve never not come home. While you were gone I – I felt terrible Grantaire. Even though I stand by what I said I didn’t realize how badly it could have hurt you until Combeferre talked some sense into me and Courfeyrac nagged at me for an hour. It didn’t occur to me how differently I acted around you, how out of control you made me feel, made me act sometimes. And those 3 days you were gone, it gave me time to think through my thoughts and sort out my feelings for you.”

“And this is the conclusion you came up with? That you love me?” Grantaire could barely bring himself to ask the second question, because acknowledging it makes it real and he doesn’t know what to do with himself once he hears Enjolras’s response.

“Yes,” Enjolras was beaming like a child on Christmas day and Grantaire was melting because Enjolras never smiles at him like that, never smiles like that period. “You don’t have to say it back straight away, I know this might be a shock but I – “ he casts his eyes down, shy now that he had Grantaire’s full attention, “I hope you still feel the same way.”

Grantaire was going to nominate Combeferre and Courfeyrac for sainthood (albeit honorary for Courfeyrac for they would have to lower the requirements for sainthood _significantly_ to be able to accept his vices) but that would have to wait, for there were more pressing issues at hand now.

The kiss this time was more daring, as Grantaire abandoned the restraint from earlier, instead choosing to utilize his hands effectively to explore _everywhere_ until the both of them were bare, skin-on-skin and nothing else between them. He panned his hands over Enjolras’s flat stomach, felt Enjolras’s breath hitch as Grantaire’s hands traveled lower to the waistband of his sweatpants, the last obstacle in place, and dip inwards to find Enjolras going commando.

“You’re going to the death of me. Again. I’m going to die again because of you and we won’t have time to beat Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore as sexiest ghost couple and it’s all going to be your fault.” Grantaire rambled on as coherent thought left his brain as soon as Enjolras shrugged out of his sweatpants and began to travel down Grantaire’s thighs, blowing cool breaths of air along his navel.

“Do you ever shut up?” Enjolras quipped, lightly biting Grantaire’s inner thigh.

“I have been told my talkative nature is endeari – oh god,” Grantaire stops talking as soon as Enjolras envelops him in the wet heat of his mouth and sucks so hard Grantaire can see the hollows of his cheek and feel the bastard smirk before continuing his ministrations.

Enjolras stares up at Grantaire, eyes dark and wide from want, before pulling away to lay a trail of kisses along his shaft, grinning as Grantaire moans and tugs on Enjolras’s hair lightly.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you from the first time I saw you shirtless,” Grantaire gasped, fighting back the urge to thrust up in Enjolras’s mouth that was so warm and inviting and was now sucking his cock like he had something to prove.

Enjolras released Grantaire reluctantly, eyes simmering in the dark as he answered. “And tonight I’ll let you,”

Grantaire’s mouth went dry as Enjolras bolted back to his room and returned with a bottle of lube and a box of condoms which he haphazardly threw on the ground beside them. Grantaire cocked an eyebrow in amusement.

“So the Fearless Leader isn’t celibate after all,” he teased, pulling Enjolras back down into a kiss that was all too filthy and teasing for both of them at this point.

“Stop talking,” Enjolras said, hands shaking as he reached for the bottle of lube and slicked his fingers wet before inserting one into himself, head thrown back.

Grantaire took the moment of vulnerability to push Enjolras onto his back and lay kisses down his torso as his hands gripped appreciatively around Enjolras’s cock, the sudden pressure triggering a moan from Enjolras that was all too wanton as his hands came up to entangle themselves in Grantaire’s hair.

Grantaire began stroking Enjolras lightly, calloused fingers trailing the length of his cock and thumbing over his tip as Grantaire’s other hand reached for the bottle of lube.

He was beginning to lose himself in the little noise Enjolras made every time Grantaire stroked him with greater urgency or how his eyes rolled back when Grantaire inserted a finger into Enjolras, twisting slightly to find the right angle only to incite a slew of curses from Apollo’s lips.

He fucks Enjolras slowly, relishing in the small increments in octave as Enjolras’s moans get louder and louder, before inserting a second finger, and a third to fully drive him crazy.

“For god sake R, just _fuck_ me already I –“ Enjolras gasps at the sudden loss of contact as Grantaire removes his fingers to grasp around for a condom, teeth ripping at foil packet as he rolls one onto himself and positions himself at Enjolras’s entrance.

He looks down at Enjolras, adoration and lust flush in his eyes and Enjolras suddenly felt more naked than he actually was, laid out on their sofa with his legs hitched around Grantaire’s waist and his hair splayed around his head like a halo.

“You ready?” Grantaire’s voice was low and husky and made something turn in Enjolras’s stomach. He nodded with a grin.

Grantaire tried to be good, really, he pushed in so _slow_ , so achingly slow. But Enjolras’s tiny gasp and the way he reached up to fit their bodies together, scratching down Grantaire’s back made him lose all sense of control he tried to retain.

He thrust faster into Enjolras as Grantaire felt legs tighten around his back.

“Fuck, Apollo you feel so –“

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras snapped, trying to muster some sense of authority in his voice as he gritted his teeth to bit down a moan, casting what he thought was an angry look at Grantaire.

Grantaire laughed, slowing down his thrust now, almost pulling out completely before sliding back into Enjolras again, relishing in the way Enjolras’s lips rounded into a breathless ‘O’ before sighing deeply.

The languorous thrust somehow made everything more erotic as now Grantaire could feel _everything_ , see everything, hear every reaction Enjolras had as their hands explored the vast expanse of each other’s body.

“Faster R,” Enjolras said, pouting he pushes back against Grantaire, trying to gain some friction. “Next time I get to ride you,”

Grantaire was breathless as he replied, pleasure overriding his innate urge to annoy Enjolras as he replied. “Next time?”

“I intend to – oh god R yes – no don’t sto – I intend to be able to fuck you so hard next time you stop calling me that stupid nickname,” the last bit came out barely as a breathy whisper in Grantaire’s ear.

Grantaire groaned, thrusting without abandon now as their bodies arched against each other, each seeking their own release. He reached down to the space between their bodies and stroked Enjolras’s cock, flush against their stomachs and coaxed him to his climax as Enjolras spilled over his hands.

Grantaire came soon after then, with post-orgasm Enjolras whispering into his ear and nudging him on, pulling out of Enjolras reluctantly and tying up the condom.

They laid side-by-side after, barely fitting on the tiny sofa with Enjolras tucked into the crook of Grantaire’s neck.

“I haven’t actually seen that Demi Moore movie,” Enjolras said, eyelids heavy as he curled into Grantaire.

Grantaire laughed, “Tomorrow’s plans are sorted then,”

Enjolras murmured something about ‘meetings and responsibilities’ before dozing off, tucked into Grantaire’s arms.

Grantaire closed his eyes, and even though sleep didn’t come to him immediately, he felt more at ease than he had ever felt in his life.

_May 2010     3 years_

Grantaire hates being a ghost sometimes.

He hates not being able to touch or kiss Enjolras in public. He hates not being able to be introduced alongside him at gatherings that extended beyond their circle of friends. He hates not being able to lay claim on Enjolras publicly like he wants to.

Ever since he had been voted into the National Assembly, exposure for the Les Amis has increased exponentially and traction had begun gathering for their little political party that was now turning into something much more legitimized and recognized.

A downside of this new found fame, which Grantaire noted was centered all too much on Enjolras’s _looks_ and young age than his ideals itself, was the sheltering and denial of their relationship.

For obvious reasons “I’m dating a Ghost” splashed over the headlines probably wouldn’t look so good for an up-and-coming politician’s reputation or his sanity for that matter. As a result, they had to keep things pretty much on the down low for the past few years they’ve been together, limited their contact to close friends and confined spaces.

It’s never really bothered Grantaire much.

 _Much_.

For some reason, a recent gossip news establishment has made it their personal life mission to uncover more information about Enjolras’s love life, which they then print in obnoxious yellow font on their covers, normally with an angry Enjolras somewhere in the background.

The past few editions have been relatively tame, considering the sheer discreet nature of Enjolras makes it hard for anyone to gather more information about him, so the publication could only limit their headlines to speculation that Grantaire easily dismisses.

But this time, was different.

Enjolras had been away on a trip and had stopped by his hometown Marseille to visit his aging grandmother. Somehow the news train got hold of this information and plagued his visit home with endless barrage of photographers and reporters, most of which Grantaire had watched with some amusement on the news channel.

What he wasn’t expecting, was a grainy photo of Enjolras locked tightly in an embrace with an irritatingly handsome dark haired man in what looks like a bar, plastered over the covers of said magazine with “Secret Lover?” printed in obnoxious yellow.

Grantaire had dismissed the image immediately when he had first seen it at a news stand whilst walking home from Jehan’s apartment, but had went home and googled it anyways.

He had dismissed it again and decided to divert his attention to painting, but found himself dropping his paintbrush to obsess over the image after a good 20 minutes of brooding.

Now, Grantaire trusts Enjolras, wholeheartedly he knew the man would never do anything to betray him. He wasn’t jealous, he was just – just _curious_ , that’s all.

He skimmed through the article online, most of it the stereotypical gossip magazine bullshit that probably didn’t require damage control from PR (albeit a few surprised outburst in the comment sections about Enjolras’s sexuality, a fact that had actually helped him secure the National Assembly position when he had initially came out), before settling on the photo again.

Grantaire bit on his inner check and observed the man’s sharp jawline, his tousled salt-and-pepper hair, the arms that were –

Fine, he might be _a bit_ jealous.

It’s just that he hadn’t been able to see or talk to Enjolras much for the better part of a month and their last conversation had ended on an argument about Marxism or something and the ache of missing him was driving Grantaire near insane.

Picking up the phone before he could stop himself, Grantaire keyed in Enjolras’s private number and dialed.

He picked up on the third ring, sleep heavy on his voice. “R? It’s 2am, are you alright?”

“There’s literally nothing that bad that can happen to me Enj, you seem to forget that I’m already dead.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Wai – Wait. I have something important to ask you.”

Enjolras sighed, and Grantaire could hear him sit up right even through the phone. “I’m coming back tomorrow R, can this perhaps wait till I’m back tomorrow night?”

Grantaire thought about it for a while, before his eyes flickered back to that stupid photo and decided against it. “No. It can’t wait.”

“Go ahead then,”

“So you know how I don’t care about those stupid gossip magazines right and you know I don’t care that everyone thinks you’re still single because obviously you can’t just come out and say that you’re dating a ghost that’s crazy but I saw this photo and it just made me kind of sad because I can’t have you all to myself and it’s stupid but I’m also kind of jealous about that guy you were hugging, not that I care who he is but I –“

He was stopped mid ramble by the melodic sound of Enjolras laughing over the phone, “What – what’s so funny?”

“Well first off, that’s my college professor whom I hadn’t seen for the better part of 8 years or so and he is married happily with 2 kids so you don’t have to worry there. Secondly, I can ask Courfeyrac to leak a statement to the press that I am currently very happily dating some mysterious guy whom the press will never be able to find if you like. And last, I love you R and I miss you but I’m really tired so can I go to bed now?”

Grantaire considered it for a moment, a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. “You have to say in the statement that I’m also devilishly handsome and secretly an underwear model,”

“Goodnight R, love you,” He could hear Enjolras’s smile over the phone.

“I love you too, see you tomorrow.”

Grantaire was smiling long after he heard the dial tone.

_June 2017     10 years_

Grantaire loves being a ghost sometimes.

Namely situations where being invisible to much of the general public comes in handy, and situations such as the one he had found himself tonight.

It was their 10 year anniversary, and Enjolras’s current position as the Secretary of State for Regional Reform, attached to the Minister for Decentralization Valjean, had kept him out of Grantaire’s arms the entire day.

But when a video conference call late into the evening had threatened to disrupt their night together, Grantaire wasn’t going to have any of it.

Enjolras had already begun to set up the conference camera in their living room, positioned so that only the top half of his body could be seen when Grantaire began creeping over to him, devilish grin on his face.

Enjolras cast a look of warning his way before continuing discussions with a blissfully unaware Valjean and associates on screen.

When Grantaire whines and lays on Enjolras’s feet like a cat, he barely notices it, choosing instead to focus on the strategies Valjean was instructing him to note down.

He does notice, however, when Grantaire begins stroking him through his boxers, and casts a dangerous look down to look at the man. The look only served to egg Grantaire on as he stared up at Enjolras, green eyes blinking innocently as he pulled out Enjolras’s cock and swallowed his entire length down his throat.

Enjolras made a low moan that he hastily covered up with a torrid of coughs as he adjusted the collar on his shirt uncomfortably, biting down on his lip to keep from making more noises.

“You alright there, Enjolras? You seem a bit flushed,” Valjean said, concerned now that his chief helper seemed so uncharacteristically unfocused.

“Ye – Yes. I’m fine, let’s move on.” Enjolras took a deep breath to regain composure, hands still by his side as he tried not to thrust into Grantaire’s mouth.

Grantaire smirked, releasing Enjolras with a ‘pop’ as he teased, licking along the length of his shaft painfully slow and reveling in how Enjolras was slowly coming undone bit by bit.

Standing up, Grantaire reached down to pull his own boxers off and sat next to the laptop, eyes blazing into Enjolras’s as he licked his lips and reached down to stroke himself.

“Come on Enj, turn off that camera and you can fuck me over the table,” Grantaire moaned visibly, hands gripping tighter around himself as he threw his head back and stroked, more out of theatrics than anything else.

Enjolras was fighting hard not to look up at him, he was trying so hard to focus on Valjean, focus on what was at hand, focus on – oh _God_ Grantaire was moaning even louder now, his hand tight around his cock, calling out Enjolras’s name.

Enjolras gritted his teeth and breathed out calmly through his nose as Grantaire kneeled on all fours and began crawling towards him.

“We will have to look into main d-direct taxes and the in-ind-“ Grantaire had resumed his position between Enjolras’s legs and was now doing _that thing_ with his tongue that made Enjolras’s legs buckle and hands grip tighter onto the sofa to keep from moaning out.

“Indirect taxes?” Valjean prompted.

“ _Yes_ ,” Enjolras exclaimed, much louder than he would have liked as his traitorous hands had now come up to grip Grantaire’s hand, pushing his head down to swallow his cock whole. He could feel the vibrations of Grantaire’s laughter against his inner thigh.

“Valjean, I-I’m not f-feeling too well tonight. Is it alright if we c-carried on this conversation tomorrow?” Enjolras gave up finally, too hard and too close to his release to focus.

Valjean nodded understandingly and they bided they goodbyes hurriedly, with Enjolras snapping the laptop shut as soon as Valjean was out of the screen.

He pushed Grantaire off, pulling the other man up so they stood standing face to face.

For a moment Grantaire thought he had done it now, crossed the line somehow but before he could protest his innocence Enjolras was pushing him against the wall hard and kissing a line down his neck.

“ _I hate you_ ,” Enjolras spat out in between kisses.

Grantaire pulled their bodies flush together, making both of them groan out. “That thing I feel between your legs is telling me a different story,” he smirked, triumphant.

“Your offer just now, does it still stand?” Enjolras breathed out, his voice low and husky.

Grantaire’s mouth suddenly felt very dry as he nodded.

Enjolras smirked, turning Grantaire against the wall.

“Happy anniversary baby,”

_September 2025    18 years_

“No.”

Enjolras pouted adorably, propping himself up with his elbows.

“Your attempts to look intimidating really don’t work whilst naked you know,” Grantaire sighed, running a hand along Enjolras’s body, feeling him shiver under his touch. Post-orgasmic Enjolras, as Grantaire had realized, was an Enjolras who was shamelessly sappy and ridiculously romantic.

“Just one.” Enjolras said, punctuating the end of his sentence with a dizzying kiss.

“You’re being very manipulative,” Grantaire groaned.

“Comes with being a politican, baby. So is that a yes?” Enjolras smirked, already certain of his impending victory.

“If it attacks me instantly I’m holding you liable,” Grantaire relented, sighing dramatically. “And just one cat Enjolras, and don’t name it something ridiculous like Lafayette.”

Enjolras mocked insult and grinned widely.

“You got it already, didn’t you.”

Enjolras laughed. “Sammy’s staying over at Courfeyrac’s for the moment.”

Grantaire cocked an eyebrow. “Sammy?”

“I like that way it rolls off my tongue when I say it,”

“I know something else that you’ll like rolling off your tongue,” Grantaire teased, leaning against Enjolras gently.

It was a true testament to Enjolras’s post-orgasmic haze that he didn’t even bat an eyelash or roll his eyes, just smiled stupidly and allowed Grantaire to show him the answer.

_August 2047     40 years_

It begun 5 years ago, on Enjolras’s 60th birthday.

It was a quiet celebration, just close friends and the newly appointed Prime Minister.

Everything was so perfect, and Grantaire had a fleeting moment of feeling so unbelievably happy, surrounded by their friends and his beautiful husband. It had been 40 years, passed in a torrid of achievements and arguments and bliss.

It was everything he could have asked for and more.

Until it wasn’t.

When Enjolras had collapsed mid-toast Grantaire wasn’t able to carry him up, wasn’t able to dial for the ambulance.

He wasn’t able to speak to the chief physician at the hospital, only stand sullenly at the corner of Enjolras’s bed as Courfeyrac spoke animatedly outside the room.

He hovered over Enjolras’s bed, brushing golden hair, so light now from the many years of sun it was almost white, out of his face. Their friends rushed into the room then, the decades they have lived through showing in the creases around their eyes. They circled around Grantaire, placing an understanding hand on his arm. 

"He'll be alright, R," Combeferre smiled gently, but the worry in his eyes told a different story.

Combeferre was right tho, Enjolras was alright, for a while at least. He fought the illness with dignified grace, of course he did, he fought it every step of the way.

They moved to a small house just outside of the city, away from the prying press who were relentless in finding out why the highly supported Prime Minister had resigned after merely a year in office.

When the end did come, it wasn’t drawn out or overly dramatic, for once in Enjolras’s life it was quiet, peaceful.

He was sat on an armchair out in the backyard, head leaning against Grantaire’s shoulder as he listened to Grantaire reading.

“What do you think will happen?” Enjolras murmured, with a voice much devoid of his usual strength.

“Let’s not think about that Enj,” Grantaire turned his face to lay a gentle kiss on Enjolras’s forehead. The subject had been an issue of contention between them the past few months as Enjolras’s condition worsened.

He nodded, their decades of being together has made Enjolras realize the importance of fighting battles that were necessary, and right now he just wanted to enjoy being with Grantaire. “Read me that poem you like so much,”

Grantaire smiled, tangling his fingers through Enjolras’s, stroking his palm with the tips of his fingers.

“You said, ‘When we meet again,  
in the shadow of olive-trees,  
we shall kiss, in a love without pain,  
under cloudless infinities.”

Enjolras closed his eyes, focused on the soothing voice of Grantaire and the soft glow of the evening sun behind his eyelids.

“But there, alas, where the sky  
shines with blue radiance,  
where olive-tree shadows lie  
on the waters glittering dance,  
your beauty, your suffering,  
are lost in eternity.”

Enjolras’s smiled widen as he thought about their last 40 years together, the life they have built together. His grip on Grantaire’s hand slowly loosened.

“But the sweet kiss of our meeting ......  
I wait for it: you owe it me ....... “

He went calmly towards the good night, without fear or doubt in his heart, for he knew he had made a promise.

And they will meet again, in a love without pain, under cloudless infinites, for eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly based on the beautiful Alexander Puskin poem that Grantaire reads at the end :-) this took way too long to write and grew completely into something of it's own, but i hope you guys liked it!
> 
> Also do go check out the blog that made the prompt this fic was based off on [here](http://inktaire.tumblr.com/)


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